


into this empty space

by wolfoncaffeine



Series: to stand against fate [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, Fem! My Unit, Fluff, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Snowball Fight, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfoncaffeine/pseuds/wolfoncaffeine
Summary: It started as swordplay practice but that's not how it ends....





	into this empty space

Chin propped up on one hand, Rae scowled down at the map and the tiny wooden figures scattered across it.

 _Gods-damned puzzle. Gods-damned archers._ She’d blazed through all the previous predicaments her tactics book had presented, routing knights and mages, and now watched the last of the sand in the timer run out because a pair of archers had her pegasus knight cornered. She winced. Though two minutes of inaction in study only meant frustration, in battle it would’ve almost certainly meant death for her knight.

Shivering, she stirred the coals in her brazier with a poker, then pushed the figures away and pulled a tome over in their place.

She was halfway through a dense chapter on the infamous tactics of some long-dead Ylissean general when the bell outside her tent chimed.

“Come in,” she called.

“Rae?” Tent flaps rustled as Chrom stepped inside. He approached, boots thumping on the rug. “As inspiring as your dedication is, perhaps you should take a break.”

“Thanks, Chrom, but I’m —” She looked up, finally registering the scent that entered with him, then the quality of the light slipping inside. “Is that rooibos? What time is it?”

He smiled, offering the steaming mug of tea. “Almost midday.”

 _I’ve been sitting in this chair for four hours._ She groaned and shot him a glare when he laughed. “Thanks,” she said, grabbing the mug, then blinked in surprise at its milky colour. “You added milk.”

He winced. “Sorry. I thought you took milk. Do you want a fresh mug?”

“No, I do take milk. I’m —” _Just surprised you noticed._ She pulled at the neck of her sweater. “Thanks.”

“So?” He leaned against the table. “How is your studying?”

She took a sip of her tea, then set it aside to tidy the mess of her materials. “Good. Aside from brushing up on politics, I’ve reviewed all of our previous battles and assessed my tactical decisions to see how they affected the currents and outcomes of those battles.”

“And?”

“And I’ve made a ton of shitty decisions.”

Chrom frowned. “When? You’ve led us unharmed through every battle—”

“Untrue.”

“—without major injury through every battle. Everyone trusts you.”

“Oh? Does Frederick trust me unequivocally now?” She waved a hand before he could argue. “Never mind. Anyway, it’s true that I haven’t made any decisions which cost us more than we could afford, but small ones. Small ones which I didn’t notice at the time and, which had our battles gone differently, might’ve led into corners with no escape.”

“Rae—”

She held up a hand. “It’s just a fact. And a reminder that, for all my tactical knowledge, I have no tactical experience before our first battle together. Which was only three months ago.”

He hesitated, then nodded, expression shifting to that of her captain, rather than her...whatever else he was. “You’re right. You’re still adjusting.”

Sipping her tea, she watched him. Off the battlefield, he was easy to read — smiling when happy, frowning when uncertain, scowling when conflicted. But his expression had shuttered, as it did on the field. _Thinking back on our battles. Maybe that will instil some caution in him,_ she thought, then swallowed a huff. _Right. Caution in the guy who brought a potential spy on as tactician._

She set her mug down and tugged her book half an inch closer. “I should get back to it.”

“You should really take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

Sighing, he straightened. “It’s been five days since you last practiced. Time for a session.”

At the shift in his voice, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and gave him a flat look. “You’re pulling rank.”

“If that’s what it takes to get you away from this desk, yes.”

She shut the book with a thump. “Ass.”

He patted her shoulder. “Finish your tea.”

Shrugging into her coat, she followed him out and winced as she stepped out into the unfiltered gleam of a cloudless winter day. She shuddered. Despite her two layers of wool, the cold had immediately crept through to her skin. “I think I hate winter.”

“I’ve always been fond of this season. As a kid, it meant snowball fights in the garden and hot cocoa after. But now that I’ve led a militia through one winter — this being the second — I understand why Emm’s generals complain,” he said, looking southeast.

She followed his gaze to the storm, now dozens of miles away and a mere smudge on the horizon. Less than a day after they’d left Regna Ferox, the approaching blizzard had forced the Shepherds to make camp to wait it out. It had finally passed early that morning, leaving behind eerie stillness and snow several feet deep. After a brief meeting, they’d unanimously decided to resume travelling the next day. At least three of them, and the more the better, had to grapple the task of swapping out the wagon’s wheels for sledge runners, as well as winterizing the wagon itself. Plus, Frederick had advised for a constant patrol to circle the camp, at a half-mile distant. Sully and Miriel would be returning soon, with Stahl and Virion set to take up the circuit.

She turned back to him, a quip about him being a spoiled prince on the tip of her tongue, and paused at seeing his expression. With his distant gaze and small smile, he looked...odd. Similar to how he looked when reflecting on their battles, not like he was reflecting on his performance as a commander and soldier, but like the memories were pleasant. Wistful — was that the word? A longing for the past?

Biting the inside of her lip, she looked down at the snow. During their fireside meals over the past few months, the other Shepherds had regaled her with tales of the group’s adventures. The story of their first job, to investigate a mountainside ruin from which locals’d seen smoke rising, sprang easily to mind. Instead of a solitary drifter, they’d found a band of Plegian refugees.

Laughing through her words, Sully’d described approaching the ruin alone, so as to not scare whoever was inside, and meeting a wall of rusty spears wielded by shaking hands. She’d barely managed to avoid being run through when Chrom called out, asking for her status.

Rae’d watched Chrom redden as Lissa joined Sully in laughing, and had wondered why he still smiled, despite being embarrassed. Wondered how Sully could laugh about almost dying. Wondered what it was like to have memories to look fondly on, even if the experience itself hadn’t been pleasant.

Maybe it helped that the job had ended well, with the Shepherds escorting the refugees safely to Ylisstol.

All of her own memories were fresh, no more than a few months old and crammed with new experiences — navigating city streets, court etiquette, wielding a sword. And although she’d had enjoyable moments, like lingering in that quiet tea shop with a cup of rooibos or striking her target precisely with a spell, were any of them moments to treasure? To look back on and smile?

Even her lighter moments with the Shepherds, jogging with Stahl or collecting firewood with Lissa, were lined with uncertainty, with undead roaming the country, Plegia jabbing at the border, and worries about her memory loss lingering like a skim of oil. What was hidden under the darkness that eclipsed her first twenty-odd years of life? And _why_? Was there a reason at all?

She snapped her teeth together. Dragging herself into those cyclical thoughts was pointless. And a waste of time. She’d already spent countless hours mulling over those questions and never found a wisp of an answer.

When she looked up at Chrom, she found him looking down at her and frowning. “Are you all right?”

She willed her expression to blankness. “It’s nothing. Just lost in thought. Are we gonna train or what?”

He nodded, accepting the blunt change of topic without a blink. “If you’re ready for more bruises.”

She punched his arm. “Cocky bastard.”

“Well, you _are_ a novice with a mere twenty hours of practice. Your strength training is showing progress, though, I notice,” he added, rubbing the spot she’d punched.

“As you should.” She skipped ahead of him, snow crunching beneath her boots. With Chrom several steps behind, she wound through camp to where she knew the sparring ring would be — thanks to a rule as old as the militia itself that its camp set-up never vary.

At the edge of their cluster of tents, near the supply tent, she found it — a vaguely circular space of packed snow, ten paces wide, and currently occupied by Lon’qu. Bared down a sleeve-less tunic despite the cold, the warrior struck a training dummy with his sword, rolled to avoid an imaginary strike, then flipped his weapon to his other hand and slashed out as he rose.

“Damn, he might be better than you,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at Chrom.

“The only way to answer that question would be for the two of us to spar,” he replied, stopping at her side.

Rae rolled her eyes. _So sensible._ Getting a rise out of him was unsurprisingly difficult.

Turning to face them, Lon’qu lowered his sword. “Captain Chrom. Ser Rae.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” Chrom said, selecting two practice swords from the weapons rack and handing Rae one.

“Nevertheless, I will continue to be.” He tucked his sword into his belt and gave them each a slight bow. “Excuse me.”

He left, eyeing Rae as he passed her.

She spun her wooden sword from palm to knuckles and back. “He’ll need to work on that.”

“I thought he mentioned that he can suppress his aversion on the battlefield?”

“Sure, but how’s he gonna truly become a Shepherd if he’s scared of half of us?”

Chrom hummed. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she huffed, choosing to ignore her earlier insistence about her mistakes. “I’m your tactician.”

“Indeed you are. Our tactician who needs to practice her sword skills.” He stepped into the ring, gesturing for her to follow.

She tested the packed snow as she followed and found almost as firm as the ground itself. Whoever’d prepared the ring that morning had been thorough. “What today?” she asked, beginning to stretch.

“A spar.”

“Finally. D—” Reaching for her toes, she bit down on the reflexive “don’t spare me” response. It would end in moments, with her flat on her ass, if he didn’t hold back.

“Focus on blocking my attacks. And mind your footwork,” he instructed as they finished stretching.

She shuffled into a basic fighting stance — left foot a half-pace behind her right, torso angled to the side, sword in a two-handed grip. “I can manage that much.”

Holding his sword one-handed, Chrom turned his body side-face. “I know you can.”

Her lips twitched at that. Not quite praise but more than just acknowledgment of her progress. Unsure of how to respond, or even feel, she bent her knees and angled her wooden blade toward him.

Chrom advanced one, two, three strides and aimed a downwards slash at her.

She whipped her sword up and blocked his strike, deflecting it away from her body. For an instant, she felt elated — she’d performed the block correctly, and had reacted in good time — then he swept his sword up. She blocked again, clumsily, and almost dropped her sword. Cursing under her breath, she skipped away a few steps.

 _Focus, focus!_ She readjusted her grip.

He lunged, closing the distance in a blink.

She repelled him again, careful to keep her elbows in and weight centred.

He stepped back and began to circle to her left.

Turning with him, she raised a brow. _Testing my footwork. And obviously._ She sidestepped, never crossing one foot behind the other.

He nodded, as if in approval, then swiped at her feet.

She jumped away, expecting him to pull back, but he followed, sword blurring toward her. She retreated, deflecting cuts for her knees, ribs, chest, and neck and trying to land her steps,but panic edged in as he sped up. Slashes for her ankles, her belly, her hands tight around the sword hilt. When his sword arced once more toward her, she pushed back, parrying instead of merely blocking. Chrom knocked her sword aside effortlessly, one-handed, and darted inside her reach.

Rae jerked back, pulling her sword up between them —

And toppled over as her knees met resistance. With a squawk, she landed on her back in a puff of snow.

“That’s the match,” Chrom said from somewhere in the ring.

She scowled up at the achingly-blue sky. She’d left the ring, a mistake which stood in for any number of hazards in a real duel, from tripping over debris to stumbling into another combatant to falling off a cliff. In short, she’d forgotten to be aware of her surroundings.

At least her face would be red enough from exertion to cover up her embarrassment.

“Come on. Let’s try again.”

As much as she hated the profound cold against her back, she hated the prospect of getting up in that moment even more. She grabbed a handful of snow and lobbed it in his direction. “Break time.”

She sensed more than heard him sigh. “That was only one round.” He appeared in her field of vision and leaned down, hand extended.

She blinked, seeing double — Chrom of the present and Chrom of three months past, offering her a hand up from that roadside. _He hasn’t changed,_ she thought. With a grin, she grabbed his hand.

His expression flitted from bemusement to realization to incredulity in the half instant before she yanked him forward.

“Raaaeeeeee —!” His startled cry and shocked expression vanished into the snow beside her.

She burst into laughter when he pushed himself up, clumps of snow stuck to his cheeks. “You shouldn’t be so surpriiiiii—” He shoved a handful of snow against her face, turning her words into a muffled shriek.

“Neither should you.” His tone was an attempt at stern, but his twitching mouth and dilated eyes belied it.

“Oh, it’s on.” She scrambled to her feet, hopped deeper into the drift, and spun to fling a snowball at him as he stood.

Her shot missed by an arm’s length.

His, however, connected neatly with her shoulder. “Never take the shot you can’t see,” he said, sounding decidedly smug.

“Says the guy who’s never wielded a bow in his life,” she retorted, plunging to his left and hurling another snowball.

He ducked, grabbing snow in the same motion. “Hey, I’ve tried my hand at archery. I just wasn’t…very good,” he added lamely, then threw his snowball.

She dodged his throw and stumbled over something beneath the snow. “I bet I can land more shots than you,” she called, kicking her way forward, and palmed some snow.

“A bold bet when you’re already be—”

She took three running steps and leaped off the hidden rock. For an instant, she was weightless, high above the glittering snow and sailing toward a startled Chrom, then, beginning to fall, she flung her snowballs. Both hit his chest with satisfying thuds just before she tumbled to the snow, and he a moment later.

She bounded to her feet. “You were saying?”

He stared up at her, then grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

She jumped back on instinct, barely evading his snowball, and kicked powder up to cover her retreat. Even so, his next shot hit her back.

From there, it was a flurry of snow, taunts, and undignified squawks. They chased each other back and forth between the nearby woods and a ravine which would surely flood with snowmelt come spring. Rae tried unsuccessfully to lure Chrom into the trees, where she’d hoped to use the cover to her advantage. He tipped over the rock, and she pelted him with four shots. Half a minute later, she tripped on her own feet trying to evade him. When he approached, she launched herself at him and they landed in a tangle of limbs. Laughing, she shoved herself up off his chest, pushing him back into the snow. Too quick, he regained his feet and charged her, with two snowballs and a jab at her ribs.

“I thought this was a snowball fight!” she cried, dodging.

“Your hand-to-hand skills need work, too.” He struck at her face and, when she pulled back, hooked a foot behind her knee and swept her to the snow.

Remembering her lessons, she used her momentum to roll away before bouncing up. She scowled, shaking snow from her hair. “Cheap trick.”

“In a real fight, everything goes.” He came at her, hands often moving too fast for her to track and block.

She knocked away a jab for her collarbone, took another in the belly, and managed to smack his chest, albeit barely. When he tried a sweep again, she grabbed his foot in both hands and shoved. He sprawled into the snow.

“Well done,” he said, approval bright in his eyes, until she tossed a snowball at him.

She danced back as he rose, then ran when he gave chase but could barely keep ahead. Her breath was ragged, legs shaky, energy spent. As he closed, she stooped mid-stride, snatched a handful of snow, and spun around to throw it.

She flung it hard, too hard, and missed. The ball passed over his shoulder, within an inch of his ear. Feet tangling, she saw it arc toward the camp, in the same instant a silver-blue figure emerged from the cluster of tents.

“M’lord —”

Rae landed on her ass, Chrom turned, and the snowball hit Frederick in the face.

No one moved — Chrom undoubtedly stunned, the knight blinded by snow, Rae caught in the ugly space between laughter and dread.

Carefully, _deliberately_ , slow, Frederick wiped the snow away. His expression was so purposefully blank Rae wanted to run. “M’lord, loathe as I am to interrupt, it falls upon me to remind you that we must prepare the wagon for travel.”

Chrom nodded, stiff as new leather. “Right. Yes. Thank you, Frederick. I will help. With the wagon.”

“And I will remind you _both_ ,” he continued, gaze shifting to Rae, “that we do not have time for these frivolities.” He bowed to Chrom and stalked off.

“Oh fuck,” she muttered and flopped onto her back. “I’m dead.” At that thought, she broke into giggles, uncontrollable half-gasps that quickly left her breathless. “Fuh-fuck,” she swore, barely managing to squeeze the words out, “I c-can’t be-believe it h-hit him. Do y-you think I’m —” Overwhelmed by nerves, she laughed until her sides ached, her eyes watered, and the knot in her chest felt lighter. She sucked in a breath, cold air stinging her lungs.

Chrom knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

She almost started laughing again at the furrow in his brow. “Yeah.” She took his offered hand and he pulled her up.

Brushing snow off her coat, Chrom glanced toward where Frederick had gone. “Don’t worry. He won’t hold a grudge. Not for a snowball.”

“Maybe not, but you heard him. I’m frivilous.”

He shook his head. “I’m just as guilty. Besides,” he said, expression softening, “wasn’t it worth it?”

“Worth what?”

“Worth a good memory.”

She blinked, lips moving to ask, but then she remembered her earlier thoughts and the way he’d looked at her, and that he hadn’t protested at all when the spar devolved. She flushed. “You —!” Unable to think of any way to finish that sentence, she swatted his arm. “ _I_ started the snowball fight!”

He grinned. “After I mentioned my own.”

 _Did I do that subconsciously? Stupid fool._ She hoped her blush wasn’t as bright as it felt. “Anyway,” she said, glancing at the trails of trampled snow that surrounded them, “way too soon to know if it’ll be a good memory.”

Smiling, he brushed snow from her hair. “I’m hopeful.”

Her face felt aflame. “ _I’m_ hoping to beat you in our next spar.”

He laughed, gentle and genuine. “Keep practicing.”


End file.
